


All Over Me, or Six Times Jim Was Manhandled

by coffeelacedwords



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Jim-centric, M/M, Manhandling, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 17:32:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6714322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeelacedwords/pseuds/coffeelacedwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's when the barrel of the gun presses deeper into the tender underside of his jaw that Jim realizes today is just not his day. Set after the first Season.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Over Me, or Six Times Jim Was Manhandled

"You said he'd be safe."

The accusation curls tight in Jim's chest as a heavy hand lands on his shoulder, threatening to turn him from the sight of Bruce pale and unnaturally still in his bed. He hisses at the pinching of already tender skin. The guilty part of Jim welcomes the sharp pain that lights up his shoulder and reminds him of the sloppy way he popped it back into place. 

"That you'd watch out for him," Alfred spits out, fingers digging in now. 

Jim counts each shaky rise of Bruce's chest, still so young despite the inches he's put on in the past few months. This boy with angry purple marks coloring his collarbone is the same one who Jim found shivering in the rain, barely able to speak after seeing his parents butchered in that alley. No one this young should experience what Bruce has. 

"It was bad timing," Jim starts, not sure who he's lying to more. 

The harsh grip spins Jim on his feet, with more strength than any butler should have, and suddenly Jim's nose to nose with a man who was a Royal Marine.

"Bad timing?" Alfred asks, exasperated. He lifts Jim off the ground, slamming him back hard against antique wallpaper and paneling older than his grandparents. "That child lying there believes in you, puts more trust in you than you deserve, and all you can say is it was bloody bad timing?" 

He wants to put up a fight, to claw and rip free, but he knows Bruce is injured because of him and his carelessness. Jim was the one who indulged Bruce's curiosity and willingly put Bruce in the line of fire. He deserves whatever punishment Alfred has in store for him. 

"If I could," Jim chokes, the words catching in his throat, "I'd fix this. I'd take back ever bringing Bruce into the city with me. I'd take back all my promises to him. I'd..."

He glances back to Bruce, still just a kid in so many ways, before facing Alfred, his face twisted with rage. Slowly, he places his hand over Alfred's, trying to defuse a bomb without any wires to cut. 

"I'd stop his parents from ever going down that alleyway."

Hesitation flickers across Alfred's face. Jim stays how he is, hoping his sincerity comes across. With a scowl, Alfred finally lowers him but doesn't move away. He keeps Jim crowded against the wall and he remembers his days in the Academy, remembers how people like to keep others aware of just how dangerous they can be for the right reason. 

Alfred straightens his vest. "You can show yourself out." 

Jim keeps his shoulders low and slips past Alfred, unyielding in his place. He doesn't dare look back at yet another mistake, at yet another person he's let down as he descends the stairs, his coat flapping behind him. 

\---

By the third blow, Jim tastes blood. 

"Victor Zsasz, you're under arrest-"

The next punch bounces his skull off of brick. Jim blinks away the sting in his eyes, not sure if it's blood or sweat or both. He twists his hands, trying to slip from his ties against the low steel pipe, and wonders how far he'd get with broken hands. 

"No one told me you were funny," Zsasz grins, the stretch of skin unpleasant. The smile is gone just as quick as it came. "Now, see," he kneels down, turning Jim's face towards his, "I've been told I have a killer sense of humor." 

There's a scream through a frayed door, one of Dent's carefully placed pawns who could put a stop to the crime in Gotham, a witness they are racing the mob for. Jim fears they're already too late. 

Zsasz watches him in fascination, like Jim's a bug on a windowpane, being led back and forth for his own cruel amusement. Jim coughs at the awkward angle his arms are in, compressing his chest, and spits up blood. A gloved thumb smears red across Jim's mouth, the leather cold against his skin. 

He grimaces and struggles to remove the touch, his body shuddering at the underlying violence in every inch of this man. 

"Your boss won't be too happy with you," he gasps, holding as still as possible, Zsasz's hands still framing his face. He resists the urge to spit out the blood pooling around his tongue. "Killing the only friend he's got." 

A sharp finger digs into his cheek, those blank eyes wide and unnerving, as Zsasz leers closer. 

"The bossman," Zsasz says slowly, nodding with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, "will understand. Some things just happen." 

Sirens echo outside and lights flash through the window. There's pounding on the door, gunshots echoing all around, and rustling that only means Zsasz's people are getting away with his witness. 

Shouts of the GCPD are getting closer and there's nothing on Zsasz's face, no worry or fear. Just that chilling stare that goes right through him. 

Sighing, Zsasz stands up with Jim's blood wet on the black of his leather gloves. 

"Remember, Jim," he purrs, the only flash of pale skin at his wrist bright with pink scars meticulously in a row. Bringing his thumb to his mouth, he tastes Jim's blood and says, "You were supposed to be my kill." 

\---

It's when the barrel of the gun presses deeper into the tender underside of his jaw that Jim realizes today is just not his day. Jim swallows against the pressure and curses Harvey for not answering his call. 

"Jim, my friend," Oswald frowns, sunken eyes threatening. "I do not appreciate idle threats." 

Jim bares his teeth and leans into the weight of the gun. "There's nothing idle about them."

The intensity in Oswald's face melts away into a soft scowl of disappointment. 

"Jim," he sighs, tipping the gun up sharply, "There's no need for such hostility."

Laughing, he yanks the gun back and slides it into his dark coat. He still has a hold on Jim's shirt, Butch hovering behind them. He could take Penguin in an instant if he wasn't here begging for a favor. Begging for the life of a woman who may not even be alive at the end of all of this. 

"My dear friend, I promise you the girl is unharmed. But there's more at stake than simply the D.A. losing a witness."

Sliding his hands down Jim's lapel, Oswald adjusts it like he was simply doing Jim a kindness. He fusses with the material before finally humming in satisfaction, thumping Jim's chest with a cheery nod. 

"I do so enjoy seeing this side of you, Jim," Penguin says. Jim feels lightheaded with rage, with frustration that his fate and the lives of innocent people are in the hands of this monster. He gives one final pat to Jim's shoulder before signaling behind him. "It's positively ferocious."

There's a hold tight on the scruff of his neck as he's dragged toward the exit, his shoes scraping the floor. Penguin calls after him, "Trust me when I say don't ever speak to me in such a manner again, Jim." 

\---

Jim jumps as the door slams behind him.

"What do you mean she got away?" Dent asks, agitation obvious in the wave of his hand. 

"I thought I was pretty clear."

Dent smiles tightly, his eyes hard as he draws closer. "And I was crystal clear, Gordon. We need her."

Jim gestures to his face, littered with bruises and a split lip. "I tried, okay? Everyone is after her. We're outnumbered. They were always one step ahead-"

Dent draws him close, fist tight around the bloodstains on his jacket. "How are we," Dent breathes through his teeth, "going to clean up this city if we can barely stand in the first place?" 

Jim reaches up cautiously like he's dealing with a man straight from Arkyum. "We'll get her, Harvey. She's not too far gone," he promises. Dent's using all the height he has on him to stare him down. Jim has dealt with war and the academy; he's had his share of men using their height as a weapon. "I promise." 

Jim lurches up as Dent pulls his coat, his feet barely on the ground. Dent's face is twisted, his eyes cold and his face half blocked by shadow. Jim's instincts tell him there's something dangerous there but then Dent backs up, smiling pleasantly. 

"I'll hold you to that promise," he says, letting Jim's feet fully touch the ground. 

"Yeah," Jim says just to fill the silence. He adjusts his coat and gives a stilted goodbye before shutting the door behind him. He's shaking his head about lawyers when his phone lights up.

\---

"Harvey, please," he shouts, holding up a placating hand. "It's me."

Jim counts three sprained fingers, feels the wet slide of blood down his temple. Harvey's juiced up on a toxically neon concoction that someone injected into him, giving him more strength than Jim knows what to do with. 

A body slams him against concrete, the sound echoing around the empty warehouse. It was an elaborate setup, all of it; the fake witness leading them on a wild goose chase, Penguin's part in it, Harvey M.I.A until now. This was nothing but smoke and mirrors to keep the GCPD occupied. And whoever it was, they got what they wanted. 

"Harvey," he grits his teeth, fighting against the crushing hold on him. Jim's shoved back and he curses at the way his vision jumps, his body bruised and beaten. He clenches his teeth against the rush of pain and suddenly Harvey's eyes are something close to normal again.

"Partner?" His voice strained, crackling like fire. 

"Yeah," Jim says, shaking away the ringing in his ears. "Yeah, Harv. It's me. You okay?"

Harvey's eyes are still an eerie blue, his hands gripping to bruise. He looks anything but okay. 

"Partner," he repeats, sliding the tip of his nose along Jim's cheek, burying his face into the curve of his neck. "I don't feel too hot." 

He pats his hand with a soft determination against Harvey. "Let's get you back to the precinct-"

"No," Harvey growls, leaning all of his weight into him. "No."

He's so close, their chests pressed together, that Jim feels the rumble in his words, can feel his breath lingering on his neck. Jim lets his instincts kick in and slides his hand for Harvey's gun.

"Jim," Harvey whispers, confusion flashing across his face as he paws at his jacket. Jim takes a moment to mourn his suit, battered and blood stained after today, before he grips Harvey's gun and promptly knocks him out with one quick blow. 

He catches Harvey before he falls completely, groaning at the sudden dead weight, and hopes that tomorrow will be a better day in Gotham. 

\---

"Lee-"

He flinches at the swab on his lip, unable to turn his head because of her steel hold. 

"What was it you said?" she asks, concentrating on wiping the blood off of his face. "No big deal? I'll be in and out before dinner?" 

"Lee," he tries again, wrapping his fist in her coat. He knows she's not mad at the work, she's mad when he says goodbye like it'll be the last time. He tugs on the pristine material in his hand, shooting her his best pathetic look. 

She stops tending to him and fights the smile that bursts across her face, eyes crinkling. "Don't give me that look," she says, aiming for stern but laughing through it. "I was really worried." 

"I know," he leans into her touch, wishing she'd never have to worry about any of this. 

"Hey," she smiles, tipping his chin up with gentle fingers. "Apology accepted." 

She leans in to kiss him, a soft brush of lips off center to avoid the split on his lip. Lee knows how to shake the weariness from him, knows how to pull him back when he feels too far gone. He moves to steer her closer but she stubbornly stays where she is. He tries to deepen the kiss but she pulls back at Ed bursting through the door, chattering at a mile a minute pace. 

She firmly grips his chin again and cleans him up, Jim happy to tip his face this way and that, while tossing Ed an encouraging hum of agreement.


End file.
